Forging Kingdoms, page 19
Demetrios stood on a terrace of the summer palace admiring his army, fifteen thousand strong now, forming up to the east of the outer city wall as the pack animals and wagon train assembled ready, waiting for him to give the order to march. It was with a feeling of wellbeing that he reflected on his achievement and his ambition, but it was not without some grudging gratitude to Telesphorus for his harsh but true highlighting of his failures, forcing himself to face up to the fact that the arrogance of youth was not sufficient to counter the reality of responsibility.
With this realisation and a new determination to listen to advice more carefully, Demetrios found himself amused by the irony that had he taken the advice of Nearchos and Andronicus before Gaza and withdrawn, forcing Ptolemy into an unsustainable winter campaign, he would never have lost the battle; thus he would not have embarked upon the course that had forced him to confront his false assumptions of his precocious talent and the innate ability of his blood. Father was right when he said he should thank Ptolemy for whipping me; every young puppy needs at least one good hiding.
Footsteps coming out onto the terrace drew him away from his revelation of self-knowledge; he turned to see Telesphorus. ‘Why aren’t you with the army?’
Telesphorus pointed a thumb over his shoulder to a man waiting at the terrace doors. ‘That man has just arrived by ship from your father. He came looking for you at the muster and so I thought I’d bring him up to you as I’m curious as to why Antigonos is writing to you.’
Demetrios clicked his fingers and the messenger came forward. ‘When did you leave my father?’
‘Two days before the last new moon, lord,’ the man replied, holding out a scroll case.
‘Wait inside as there will probably be a reply.’ Demetrios dismissed the man with a wave and then opened the case, tipping its contents into his hand. Unrolling it, he scanned the script, his lips moving with the words; as he read his face lengthened.
‘What is it?’ Telesphorus asked.
Demetrios handed him the scroll. ‘Ptolemy has broken the peace and has launched a fleet from Cyprus and landed in Caria. Phoinix, the satrap of Hellespontine Phrygia, is in rebellion and Father has sent my younger brother Philippos against him.’
Telesphorus looked up in shock. ‘But he’s barely seventeen.’
‘I’m sure Father will send some wise heads with him.’
‘But will he listen to them?’
‘We shall find out. But the worst news is that Ptolemaios has made a formal alliance with Kassandros and, to make matters worse, our other cousin, Dioscurides, has not been heard of for a month; he and his fleet have completely disappeared. We’re ordered back west.’ Demetrios looked with regret at the force mustering out on the plain. ‘Seleukos is going to have to wait.’
SELEUKOS.
THE BULL-ELEPHANT.
SELEUKOS HAD BEEN enjoying him -self. With Antigonos’ appointee as satrap of Persis dead at Seleukos’ hand, and the satrap of Susiana dead by his own, the previous autumn had been one of steady progress through both satrapies, establishing his power by taking the oaths of the local headmen and petty lords and then wintering in Persepolis – or what there was left of it after Thais had induced a drunk Alexander and his even drunker Companions to burn down most of the royal palace all those years ago. He had been comfortable enough over the cold months; Apama had kept him warm. But what he had most enjoyed was his complete evacuation of the entire population of Babylon and its environs by marching them to Susiana where they had been temporarily settled in camps centred on the main towns of the satrapy in order to spread the burden of such an influx. ‘What’s the use of an empty city?’ he had asked Apama. ‘Demetrios will either have to come east to find the people, in which case Patrokles will make his life impossible by harrying his supply lines and killing his foragers, or he stays in Babylon trying to remove my garrisons which are a lot better manned then when I took the city. And besides, it’s good practice for the population: they’ll have to get used to moving as they won’t be staying in Babylon after I’ve founded Seleucia on the Tigris and transplanted them there.’
Seleukos’ amusement had been great when he heard from his frequent reports from the city that Demetrios seemed to be doing a mixture of those two possibilities, neither very well, thereby managing to achieve nothing at all. ‘Inexperienced, arrogant pup,’ he confided in Apama. ‘He should have learned from his whipping at Gaza that decisive action is always better than a half-hearted approach. Had he sent his cavalry forward instead of trying to sneak them around our right flank, he would have discovered the elephant traps before the elephants did and it might have been a different day. Still, hopefully he’ll never learn.’
And so, confident that he would not be troubled by his young opponent too early in the season, Seleukos had set out north to Media with the intention of dealing with Nikanor and the ragtag army he had managed to patch together from garrison troops, eastern warlords fighting for the promise of ridiculous sums of money, which would, like as not, never be paid, and the dregs of Media’s and Parthia’s armies, plus some freebooters on the side.
At least, that is what the army looked to be comprised of as he sat on his stallion surveying the shambolic host attempting to find some sort of order atop the exact same hill, in Paraetacene, that he had stood upon with Antigonos when they managed to catch Eumenes as he tried to cross the plain to the fertile lands of Gabiene. Eumenes had won the day from the same position as Seleukos now occupied. ‘The battle went on into the night and ended by mutual consent, but we had suffered by far the greater number of casualties,’ Seleukos explained to his eldest son, Antiochus, sitting beside him. ‘However, Eumenes’ men’s desire – mainly the Silver Shields and the Hypaspists – to catch up with their baggage train, which had been sent ahead, meant Antigonos had the honour of camping on the battlefield and Eumenes had to send to him to negotiate for his dead.’
‘So Antigonos claimed victory?’ Antiochus asked.
‘He did, but we all knew it was Eumenes’ really. Antigonos never likes to talk about that battle as he knows Eumenes bested him.’ He looked down at his fourteen-year-old son. ‘I fought on the wrong side that day, Antiochus. I went to parley with Eumenes on Antigonos’ behalf and the sly little Greek offered me a chance to come over to him; I said no because I couldn’t imagine taking orders from a Greek, and a not very tall Greek at that. It was a mistake.’
‘What makes you say that, Father?’
Seleukos looked back up the hill and contemplated the army now beginning its descent. ‘Had I joined Eumenes and come over to him during the battle I think it would have made the difference and Antigonos would have been routed. That being the case, Eumenes would have been in a far stronger position at the battle of Gabiene the following year and Peucestas would not have felt the need to play both sides and eventually take his men from the field thereby guaranteeing the resinated cyclops his victory. Eumenes would have won instead and we wouldn’t be here now; we’d still be back in Babylon as loyal subjects to whichever of the kings Eumenes decided to place on the throne. All in all, a far better state of affairs.’
‘But you would just be one satrap out of many, Father,’ Antiochus pointed out. ‘However, if you win this battle you’ll control Babylonia, Susiana, Persis and Media; that’s a kingdom.’
‘Almost, Son, almost. But first we’ve got to win it and the way Nikanor’s coming down that hill will make it reasonably simple.’
‘Why is he coming down the hill in the first place?’
‘He wants to fight and he knows I’m not stupid enough to come up to him, and, besides, he thinks the terrain on the plain is better suited to his heavy cavalry and horse-archers, of which, by the looks of it, he has plenty. But, thanks to Ptolemy sending those reinforcements, our phalanx outnumbers his by almost four thousand. I’ll play to that strength and try to counteract his superior cavalry numbers.’ Seleukos studied the approaching host in silence for a few moments before coming to a decision and grunting with satisfaction. ‘Come, Son, it’s time we took our places. And remember, you stay at the rear of my Companions; I want you to taste the charge but not the combat; soon you’ll be ready, but not just yet.’
The boy was about to protest, then, seeing the steel in his father’s eyes, turned his horse away.
Seleukos watched his son go and then glanced back at the oncoming army before ordering his signaller to call ‘officers assemble’; he was ready to relay a few adjustments to his battle orders to the men in whom he would place his trust.
There was, in truth, not much Seleukos needed to adjust: he had drawn up his army with a firm plan in mind, for he knew this ground well. He had raced to reach it; moreover, he had timed his arrival so it would have looked to Nikanor as if he had tried but failed to climb the hill and face him on the high ground rather than cede the advantage of the slope to his opponent. This had been his plan ever since his spies had informed him of Nikanor’s intention to come south, early in the year, from Ecbatana, Media’s capital, keeping to the east of the Zagros Mountains, and take the fight into Persis where, he hoped, the local warlords would support him. Seleukos had rushed north at the news and had allowed his scouts to be seen by the enemy, thus drawing Nikanor towards him as a fish on a hook; now he stood in the very place he had intended to.
Although he had a little over half the fifty thousand troops Eumenes had commanded five years previously, he planned to do roughly the same: occupying the low hills to his left with light infantry, mainly archers; the heavy cavalry, with the Sogdian horse-archers for support – on the left rather than the right as Nikanor would expect – would then link them with the phalanx in the centre with the peltasts on its left flank and the light infantry screening its frontage. His light cavalry including the rest of his horse-archers he had placed on the extreme right. I’ll not make Eumenes’ mistake of being unable to counter Antigonos’ eastern cavalry. I’ll win this in the centre, just as he did, if I can keep my flanks secure. But then I’ll do what Eumenes failed to do in order to secure complete victory. Who would have thought I would learn a lesson in tactics from the sly little Greek?
And so Seleukos rode back to inspect his troops lined up a thousand paces on from the foot of the hill so that any advantage of momentum would have been swallowed by the march across the dusty, rough ground of the plain. As his officers reported their readiness to him, and received any final instructions, astride his stallion at the head of his Companion Cavalry and Azanes’ Sogdians, on the left flank of the phalanx, Seleukos watched the enemy host move out onto the flatter ground. Confidence grew within him, for, although the forces were of roughly equal size – he with more infantry, Nikanor with superior horse – his army, as his officers were showing, was ready to act as a unit whereas Nikanor’s was clearly a collection of glory-hunting chieftains supporting a phalanx that was having trouble keeping a straight frontage. He shook his head at the shambolic display. They’re more use to me alive than dead. A decision made, he turned to Azanes. ‘Get me a branch of truce; I’m going to see if we can stop this and achieve my objective without being obliged to massacre a lot of decent Macedonian lads and useful Greek mercenaries.’
With the branch of truce held high, Seleukos rode forward with Azanes on his shaggy pony and half a dozen of his shaggier men, to within a couple of hundred paces of the hill. Down the eastern army came, the light cavalry on either flank leading, steadying their mounts, pulling back on the reins to prevent them from picking up too much momentum and tangling their legs. Behind them on the right flank came their heavy comrades from Media and Parthia, men born to the saddle, armed with both bows and javelins. And then in the centre, falling behind as they struggled with the gradient, came the block of heavy infantry, both Greek and Macedonian, screened by light troops.
‘If we were to attack as they reach the bottom, they would be so disorganised we’d break them with one charge,’ Azanes observed, watching the frontage of the phalanx undulate as the pace of each man varied with the changing terrain.
Seleukos slapped a horsefly from the back of his neck. ‘It’s tempting but I think it would be best if we try to settle this without a massacre. These men are of far more use to me alive and serving in my army than being feasted upon by vultures.’
Azanes shrugged in a way that implied, judging by what he was observing, he was not convinced and then brought his hand up to shield his eyes, looking at the enemy’s right. ‘Sogdians!’
Seleukos followed his gaze: leading the cavalry down were troops dressed just like Azanes with trousers, a quilted jacket and brimless leather caps with long flaps, tied under the chin or left loose, pulled down over a mane of wild hair. ‘Do you know them?’
‘Maybe. I’ll see when they come closer.’
They’re all related out in the east. Seleukos offered a quiet prayer to Ares, the god of war, that it would be so. The descent continued and the first units made it onto level ground, advancing another hundred paces before halting and forming up in an effort to get a semblance of order into their ranks. From their midst came a small party, in similar number to Seleukos’ parley escort, made up of easterners with a Macedonian in their midst. So Nikanor is willing to talk; that, at least, is something.
With twenty paces between the two groups, Nikanor pulled his horse up. ‘Do you wish to surrender, Seleukos?’ he asked, amused at his own wit; a big man, almost equal in height to Seleukos if not in muscle, he was twice his age, a contemporary of Antigonos and thus was bearded in the older fashion.
Seleukos dismissed the suggestion with a curt wave. ‘I’ve come to see if we can avoid bloodshed; there is no need for this confrontation. I hold the east and Antigonos will not get it back from me.’
‘I hear Demetrios has Babylon.’
‘He has the empty buildings, but I have the people. The buildings are meaningless on their own.’
‘He’ll come east to get the people.’
‘He doesn’t have the men: he’s only brought nineteen thousand with him and he would have to leave at least a third of them in Babylon to counter the two garrisons I’ve left there. Even if he manages to defeat one of them, he still couldn’t come against me with more than fifteen thousand; ten thousand less than I can muster. So, what’s it to be, Nikanor: do we fight or will you see sense and realise that I am the new power in the east?’
‘What’s in it for me?’
‘Swear an oath of allegiance to me and you keep your satrapy.’
‘I keep it if I win today.’
‘But you won’t, Nikanor; not against me with an army which is willing to fight for my cause because they know I hold the best hope for uniting the east in peace.’
Nikanor laughed. ‘My army knows Antigonos is the best hope for uniting the entire empire in peace, Seleukos. No, you need to do better than that. I’ll not waste time bandying words with you; if you’re not thinking of surrendering then we’ve nothing more to say to each other.’ With that he turned his horse and accelerated away, back to his army as it continued to form line.
‘Fool!’ Seleukos shouted after him but the word was lost under the bellows of the officers and the blare of countless horns. ‘Well, that was a waste of time.’
‘It wasn’t, lord,’ Azanes said, ‘it was very productive.’
Seleukos turned to the Sogdian. ‘You knew one of his escort?’
‘I did; a cousin.’
‘Naturally. And?’
‘And he will join us.’
‘What makes you think so? You didn’t utter a word.’
‘We spoke with our eyes and small movements of the head and hands. I trust him.’
Seleukos looked at the parley party as they rejoined the army and then turned his horse away. ‘Let’s hope that is so.’
And it was with that hope Seleukos ordered the immediate advance of his army before the enemy had had time to properly deploy for, having chosen to parley rather than strike when Nikanor was at his most vulnerable, there was no sense in allowing him more of a chance than he already had.
To the sound of massed horns, the phalanx, almost ten thousand strong, rumbled forward, the screening light infantry out beyond it; peltasts protecting the lumbering beast’s left flank with Azanes’ horse-archers keeping pace next to them as their heavy counterparts – Macedonians, Greeks, Thessalians, Thracians and Persians – came along behind with Seleukos at their head, now clasping a lance in his fist. Out on the right, the rest of the light cavalry began their gyrations, taking care of the infantry’s unshielded flank, swirling back and forth, disrupting the enemy, countering and feinting, drawing their more numerous opponents away from their objective.
With his orders already distributed and his officers briefed, the plan being simple – engage the phalanx as soon as possible, pushing them back, refuse the right wing and then he would counter Nikanor’s heavy cavalry with his own on the left, looking for an opening to exploit and so complete what Eumenes failed to do – Seleukos felt himself to be in control of the day. It was with a smile that he witnessed the first of the volleys from the infantry archers rise to the overcast sky and then dip and plunge, bringing death to the heavy infantry below. But just as they released, so did the opposition, the air soon filling with fast-moving dark clouds that hissed as they passed. But he took his mind from the phalanx and its screen, for whatever happened in the centre was now beyond his control; he concentrated upon what was occurring directly to his front now that Nikanor’s army was on the move. Beyond Azanes’ Sogdians – now galloping forward to begin their revolutions – Seleukos could make out the gaudy colours of the banners of the Medes and Parthians. Break them and their phalanx’s unshielded flank is exposed. He glanced to his right: both phalanxes had opened ranks to allow their light infantry to retire in advance of contact. Hit them hard, lads; disorder them and we’ll do the rest.
